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[This post contains minor spoilers, but nothing you won’t get from reading the back of the book.]

Anthony Doerr’s novel All the Light We Cannot See is one of those rare books that is actually difficult to put down. While most books that fit this category are white-knuckle thrillers that keep us reading because we need to know what happens next, All the Light We Cannot See is gripping beyond an action-packed plotline. C. S. Lewis once said that there are some books we read and wonder with excitement, “Will the hero escape?” while other books leave us thinking: “I shall never escape this. This will never escape me. These images have struck roots far below the surface of my mind.” For me, All the Light We Cannot See is that kind of book.

The novel is set during the second world war, and follows two main characters: Werner, a burgeoning young radio engineer/genius who is essentially forced to use his unparalleled gifts for Hitler’s cause, and Marie-Laure, a young, blind French girl whose father orients her to the world, only to have that world shattered. So the book is about the invisible spectrum that carries radio signals (hence the title), and it’s about living without sight in a beautiful and often terrifying world (hence the title).

The characters’ lives are ripped apart by the unimaginable violence of World War II. Doerr uses this violent backdrop to show us more about his characters than we would otherwise see. Flannery O’Connor explained the role of violence in fiction like this:

“It is the extreme situation that best reveals what we are essentially…the man in the violent situation reveals those qualities least dispensable in his personality, those qualities which are all he will have to take into eternity with him…”

It is what Doerr reveals through this violent backdrop that makes the book so stunning. Doerr’s characters are wonderful; they are subtle, nuanced, believable, surprising, and inspiring. Doerr gives us likable characters who are full of hope and potential. The phrase “what you could be” is almost a refrain in the book. Most of the key characters view the world with wonder, with hope. But Hitler’s regime rips their worlds apart, and the characters are robbed of their reasons for hope and happiness, and instead given every reason to despair, to hate, to give up. Siblings are torn apart, fathers and friends and grandparents are imprisoned and/or killed, homes are stolen or destroyed in an instant, talents are bent to evil purposes. Ultimately, the world is shown to be a dark place (hence the title). Doerr illustrates this side of the world perfectly:

“It strikes Werner just then as wondrously futile to build splendid buildings, to make music, to sing songs, to print huge books full of colorful birds in the face of the seismic, engulfing indifference of the world—what pretensions humans have! Why bother to make music when the silence and wind are so much larger? Why light lamps when the darkness will inevitably snuff them?” (364–365)

But it is against this backdrop that Doerr shows us the light that is there, even when we cannot see it (hence the title). He convinces us, without directly saying so, that these things—buildings and music and books full of colorful birds—matter and are far more powerful than the deepest darkness ever could be.

Christian artists are infamous for insisting on saving all of their characters. (Think, for example, of God’s Not Dead, where all but one major character becomes a Christian, and the entire philosophy class acknowledges the superiority of Christian truth.) We need to grow in our appreciation for subtlety. We need to learn to value traits like faith, hope, and love—even when those traits are expressed in ways other than a repentant sinner “praying the prayer.” All the Light We Cannot See shows us bravery flourishing in big and small ways. A blind girl learning to navigate a sighted world, learning to recognize truth and manipulation, seeing what others cannot. A German soldier gradually learning that human dignity and love and friendship matter more than life or the prospect of torture. A father whose entire life has been given day by day in service to the blind daughter whose future is more promising than she could ever imagine.

Saint-Malo, France, the setting for much of the novel.

One of the characters continually thinks of the hopeless miners who spend their short and overburdened lives deep underground, producing coal for a madman’s war. Throughout the book he is tempted to see life from a nihilistic perspective: everything is horrible and meaningless and then you die. But he comes to see life as a gift, however fleeting:

“He thinks of the old broken miners he’d see in Zollverein, sitting in chairs or on crates, not moving for hours, waiting to die. To men like that, time was a surfeit, a barrel they watched slowly drain. When really, he thinks, it’s a glowing puddle you carry in your hands; you should spend all your energy protecting it. Fighting for it. Working so hard not to spill one single drop.” (476)

These images are powerful. Doerr gives us our world—amplified by violence and then enriched through subtle acts of bravery and love and enjoyment of the world and a commitment to the value of humanity, to the preeminence of relational love. The other main character that runs throughout All the Light We Cannot See is a large gemstone rumored to make its owner immortal even as it curses all of the owner’s loved ones to death. The book never gets around to affirming or denying the legendary power of this stone, but it does give several characters the opportunity to discover what they value most, where their heart truly lies.

This is the power of reading fiction. We may not be living through the earth-shattering conditions of World War II or come to possess a cursed gemstone, but we do need to better understand the human condition, to value the life we have been given, to love the people who have been gifted to us. The light is there, whether we see it or not. And it is possible to summarize the Christian life as a process of coming to recognize all the light we cannot see.

In 2012 I began teaching a course called “Christianity & the Arts,” and in 2014 I published a book on the same subject but directed specifically toward music, entitled Resonate: Enjoying God’s Gift of Music. In the process of researching for both the class and the book, I ended up reading almost every book I could find on Christianity and the arts, and I decided to write a brief review on most of those books here. My hope is that anyone looking to find a good book on some subject related to Christianity and the arts can find the best resources more quickly after scanning the list. And as I read others, I’ll keep adding them here to try to keep the list updated. If you have any questions about any of the books, leave a comment and I’ll do my best to help you out.

I’m listing my book first, not because I’m claiming it’s the best, but because it’s the only one on the list I’ve written. I do think, however, that it’s worth your time. My approach was to first highlight the significance of music, then to explore the biblical and theological basis for listening to music. I addressed questions of why music is so meaningful, what it means for music to be “Christian,” what kinds of music Christians should listen to (spoiler alert: it’s all kinds, but we must be discerning), how music works, the missional opportunities that music offers, and just a bit on music and worship. This is not a book about “Christian music” or about “worship music,” though I do discuss both concepts a bit. If you like music and want to dive deeper into this world, this is the best book you could read on the subject, in my hugely biased opinion. For more on this book, click here.

This is my favorite book on the arts overall. Steve Turner is a music journalist, which means that (1) his examples tend to come more from the world of music and (2) he is an excellent writer. Imagine addresses most (perhaps all?) of the pertinent issues related to what art is, what it means for art to be Christian (or not), what it looks like for a Christian to create art, how we can benefit from all types of art (whether created by a Christian or not), etc. His writing style is compelling and he is consistently insightful on this topic. If you’re going to read one book on Christianity and the arts in general, this is where you should start.

This is the most thorough book on arts in general that I’ve found. As I began researching how Christianity should relate to art, I found Ryken’s book addressed every major question I had. As always, Ryken is insightful, compelling, and graceful in his writing. He addresses what art is, how it works, why and how we are affected by it, how we might define “Christian art,” what it means to be a Christian artist, how Christians can be inspired, challenged, and aided by non-Christian artists, and a variety of other important topics. As a professor of literature, the majority of Ryken’s examples come from literature, but he also delves into painting and other art forms. I find this book just as helpful as Imagine (even a bit more so), and the only reason I recommend Imagine over Ryken’s book in some contexts is that Imagine is a bit more concise. If you want to be a bit more thorough, this book is the one you should read.

This is an important book. Many books focus on understanding the arts or engaging the arts, but Fujimura’s book focuses on caring for the arts and culture around us. Fujimura is a phenomenal and widely respected artist, and he challenges us to see culture and art, not as a battleground to fight over, but as a rich field to be cultivated. This takes us several steps beyond the critical approach and launches us into the world of actively and lovingly participating in the culture being produced around us. I believe this is an essential concept, and anyone interested in how Christians should think about and engage with the arts needs to read this book. For more on this book, click here.

This is the book that began my own fascination with the arts. Schaeffer’s insightful approach to Christianity and its relation to the surrounding culture is on display here, as in all of his books. The book is short, but Schaeffer does a masterful job of helping the reader understand what the Bible says about art and to delight in art in the same way that God does. At the same time, Schaeffer offers helpful instructions for being discerning in our approach to art, and aids Christian artists in thinking through their task. I would recommend this book to anyone, but especially those who sense the arts are significant for Christians, but haven’t put their finger on precisely why this is so.

This is the best book I’ve read on the intersection of faith and film. The first chapter, which gives a biblical and theological explanation of art and culture, is worth more than the price of the book on its own. Horner uses Romans 1 to explain that all human production is characterized by both a knowledge of God and his truth and also the suppression of that knowledge. For this reason, Horner argues, we must be discerning when we watch movies. We can enjoy them and learn much from them, even when the film has been crafted by a non-Christian. But we also need to be discerning (even when the film has been crafted by a Christian). Horner’s book is well written and his arguments are persuasive. The last half of the book features an insightful look at a handful of important film genres, and in each case Horner gives a wonderful discussion of the genre itself, along with a theological look at why we find that particular genre appealing. This book should be required reading for anyone interested in faith and film, and I would recommend it to anyone wanting to understand the arts in general. For more on this book, click here.

This is one of the most influential books on art that I have read. It has shaped many aspects of my thinking on the arts. The book is a collection of fiction writer Flannery O’Connor’s letters and speeches, published posthumously. There is a fair amount of overlap from essay to essay, but even the repetition is rewarding. She specifically addresses issues of how a person’s faith should affect their art (fiction writing is her focus), and she refuses to validate the view that “Christian art” must focus on Christian subject matter or exposit Christian doctrine. Her craft is more subtle and profound, and she explains how she sees grace operating in even some of her darkest stories. Some readers may be frustrated by wading through a variety of speeches and letters delivered on a variety of occasions, but I would highly recommend this book to anyone.

Taylor’s approach to this subject is unique because it is narrow: he takes John Calvin as a dialogue partner in order to build a theological foundation for the liturgical arts in the church. That narrow focus means that this is not the only book you’ll want to read on the arts (and not necessarily the first), but it is a great thought-provoking volume for those who want to think through the role of God’s physical creation (e.g., musical instruments, embodied liturgical practices) in the corporate worship of the church. In short, Taylor finds Calvin’s suspicion of the liturgical arts to be at odds with Calvin’s creational and Trinitarian theology. So Taylor explores what we’d find if we set aside Calvin’s suspicions and built a theology of the liturgical arts that was based upon Calvin’s creational theology. The results are insightful. If you read this little summary and think, “why would I care what Calvin says about anything?” then this book isn’t for you. But if you’re thinking through the role of the arts in corporate worship, there is great fuel for reflection here.

This tiny book is an excellent place to get started in learning about how Christianity and the arts relate. Ryken is a wonderful writer, and this brief treatment of the subject is filled with wisdom and inspiration. The book is probably too short to seriously aid those who have already invested a lot of time into studying the topic, but those who are getting started will find this very helpful and accessible.

This book is a classic on the relationship between faith and art. L’Engle does an excellent job of helping the reader to feel the tension in defining art and in clarifying the role that faith plays in one’s art. She cuts through many of the lame definitions of “Christian art,” insisting that if a person is truly Christian, then their art will be Christian, no matter what the subject matter. She weaves through various proposals for the definition of art and gives helpful statements such as: “Perhaps art is seeing the obvious in a such a new light that the old becomes new.” Those wanting a straightforward answer to the question of how faith relates to art may be frustrated with L’Engle’s meandering approach. But she writes as an artist (L’Engle was a fiction writer), and her insights have done much to help my understanding of this subject.

This book by the popular Christian musician Michael Gungor is a wonderful read. Gungor is passionate, humorous, and insightful in his approach to the subject of how a person’s faith should affect their art. As a musician, the majority of Gungor’s examples are drawn from the world of music, but the implications are clear for every art form. The book includes several powerful quotes, as well as a very helpful discussion on the frustrations inherent in the “Christian Music Industry.” I would highly recommend this book for artist and every art lover. For more on this book, click here.

This beautiful book consists of refined blog posts written by Fujimura on a number of topics related to faith, art, and culture. Because these chapters started as blogs, the tone is more reflective, which is perfect for a book on art. Readers wanting strong definitions on what art is and straightforward answers about how Christians should relate to art will be frustrated, but I found Refractions to be very helpful for my own understanding of art and culture. Fujimura is a talented and gracious writer, and the book includes photos of some of his artwork.

This book is excellent on the world of literature. Actually, Barrs’ book gives an excellent approach to the arts in general, but he focuses his examples and attention on literature. His basic argument is that all art (and literature in particular) carries “echoes of Eden.” This is basically a way of talking about the knowledge of God that is ingrained in us all (see Rom. 1:18-25), the “sense of eternity” that God has placed in our hearts (see Eccl. 3). We will find much to disagree with in the world of literature, but we also consistently find human beings (Christian or not) wrestling with God’s truth, God’s world, and what it means to be truly human. Barrs first lays out the theoretical argument of his book, then he tests this theory with several helpful examples, the best of which (in my opinion) is his chapter on Harry Potter (see my post about that chapter here).

This book is a collection of chapters from various authors, all based on a conference on Christianity and the arts. It addresses all of the arts and focuses on how Christians (and more specifically, the church) should relate to the arts. As with any compilation, some chapters are better than others, but this is an excellent book overall. The bright spot for me is the first chapter by Andy Crouch, which I consider to be worth more than the price of the entire book. Other chapters cover helpful areas that many Christians will be wrestling with, such as the role of art in the church’s worship, why and how Christians can be patrons of the arts, and how art functions in relation to pastoral ministry.

This book is excellent. Fiction writer Dorothy Sayers is sharp, and her writing is profound. Her arguments are tightly wound and throughout the book I found myself deeply resonating with Sayers’ insights. If every artist would heed Sayers’ wisdom here, the art produced by the church would be deeper and more powerful. As a fiction writer, Sayers primarily focuses on writing and draws her examples from that world. Her practical instruction for writing well is based in and intricately intertwined with Trinitarian theology. And this leads me to a caution: The Mind of the Maker is not for the casual arts tourist. Her arguments are profound, and sometimes tricky to follow. The reader must buckle up and hold on tightly. But any effort you put into understanding this important book will be well rewarded.

As with everything C. S. Lewis has written, this book is powerful. It is not for the faint of heart, however, as Lewis’ skill as a litterateur and critic is in full effect, his arguments are tightly wound, and his examples are drawn from works of literature that most modern readers will not be familiar with. However, for those willing to invest the energy to follow Lewis’ argument, the book will prove rich. The book is on literature, and Lewis’ basic argument is that we should judge books not according to how they are written (a trend in literary criticism that Lewis found disturbing), but more about how they are read. Lewis proposes that what makes a book good or bad is the type of reading it invites. He begins by stating that he wants to define good literature as “that which permits, invites, or even compels good reading” and bad literature as “that which does the same for bad reading.” He is forced to conclude, however, that adding the word “compels” is only wishful thinking. Ultimately, “what damns a book is not the existence of bad readings but the absence of good ones.” The book is full of wisdom and many memorable (and transformational) quotes. Any serious about literature ought to read this book. For more on this book, click here.

As with everything Tim Keller writes, this book is amazing. Actually, I think this is one of the most important books Tim Keller has written, and I believe it should be required reading for anyone in the work force and anyone pastoring people in the work force (i.e., everybody). Keller’s contention is that everything we do in life matters, and that even our most “secular” activities can be a means of God spreading his grace and provision throughout his earth. The book is not about art—it’s broader than that—but Keller gives a healthy amount of attention to the arts and any artist will find Keller’s insights helpful and inspiring. It doesn’t matter what you’re doing in life, I implore you to read this book for the sake of God’s kingdom.

I found Saving Leonardo to be very helpful in understanding several types of art, and several aspects of art history in particular. Pearcey is a sharp writer, and (in the spirit of her teacher, Francis Schaeffer) she has done much to alert the evangelical world to the dangers of dividing the secular and the sacred. What I love most about this book is its careful discussions on why certain types of art emerged and why styles, themes, and transitions are significant. But I do have one caveat. As the subtitle suggests, Saving Leonardo is a bit defensive: it recognizes an onslaught of secularism, and Pearcey sees that onslaught clearly on many fronts. But I do sense that Pearcey is taking a slightly cynical stance in regards to many works of art, several of which are capable of a more congenial interpretation. I appreciate Pearcey’s concern to induce discernment, but at times one gets the feeling that Pearcey sees all art produced by non-Christians as a massive conspiracy to get Christians to renounce their faith. However, Pearcey ends the book by denying this accusation, and she rightly points out that art—even art made by non-Christians—can be God-glorifying and beneficial to Christians. With that caveat, I would heartily recommend this book.

It Was Good is a collection of essays from a lot of great people on a variety of issues surrounding faith and art. As with any compilation, some essays are better than others, but there is a lot of outstanding material here. Some chapters that stood out to me were those written by Tim Keller, Makoto Fujimura, Edward Knippers, Ned Bustard, and Karen Mulder. The collection of essays is impressive, and while some will find specific topics and writing styles more compelling than others, this book has a lot to offer anyone interested in learning more about art and how it relates to faith. If you’re looking for a systematic approach to the subject, however, you’ll want to look elsewhere. If you’ve already started down your journey in exploring Christianity and the arts, however, you’re sure to find this book helpful.

This is one of the first books I read on Christianity and the arts, and I found it very helpful. Jeremy Begbie explores the world of music and covers a lot of ground. He discusses the power of music and its important role in our daily lives. A large portion of the book is dedicated to the history of music and to the history of music theory. From the ancient Greeks to Luther, Calvin, Barth, and Bach, the book traces the prevailing theories regarding what music is and how it works. This includes both philosophy and theology. Begbie also discusses some intriguing facets of music that can aid us in the way we think about God (and the Trinity in particular). I would caution the average reader that this book is written at the scholarly level, which means that it’s well researched and carefully nuanced, but this will likely be a barrier for most readers.

This is another scholarly work by Jeremy Begbie, and it offers a handful of essays that engage the modernist worldview, how it has affected our music, and how music might offer some paths leading beyond the stalemate that modernist philosophy and theology have left us with. Most readers will find this book overly scholarly (too nuanced, too sparse on explanations of philosophers and philosophical concepts, too lacking in passionate appeals), so I would only recommend this book to those deeply interested in both modernity and music. However, Begbie’s collection of essays here are insightful into the nature of music, and he offers some profound analogies from the world of music that can aid our thinking and discussions about several areas of theology and philosophy, not to mention music itself. For more on this book, see my review on Themelios.

This is a compilation, edited by Jeremy Begbie, focusing on how the concept of Incarnation relates to the arts. First, the concept of incarnation (of God taking on flesh in Jesus) is explained and compared to the process of incarnating through the arts—taking a concept and then giving it “flesh” through paint, sound, words, etc. This is an essential concept for the arts, and for the Christian life in general, and Beholding the Glory does an excellent job of explaining its significance. Subsequent chapters explain how incarnation works in specific art forms: poetry, music, dance, sculpture, icons, etc. As with any compilation, some chapters are better than others, but I found this book helpful and insightful overall.

As the name suggests, Siedell’s focus is visual art in general, and modern art in particular. This is a helpful book for those who have trouble understanding modern art, and especially for those who wonder if there is any point in a Christian engaging modern art. Siedell is knowledgeable (he has worked as a curator) and gracious. This book is part of Baker’s Cultural Exegesis series, which means that it is more on the scholarly side. The average reader will struggle a bit, but I would still recommend this book for those wanting to understand modern art.

Dyrness focuses on visual art. The book offers a history of the visual arts, an exploration of what the Bible says about art, and an overview of the contemporary art scene. Dyrness’ book is in Baker’s Engaging Culture series, which means it is a scholarly work and therefore more heavily nuanced and technical than most readers will want. Nevertheless, the book would be very helpful for those hoping to understand the visual arts better, particularly in conjunction with a Christian worldview.

Johnston provides a helpful explanation of how film works and how our faith informs our experience with film. Johnston challenges Christians to go beyond the rating system to decide which movies are helpful and/or redemptive. One of Johnston’s key concerns is that many people today go to the theatre as a worshipful experience, as a sort of replacement for church and traditional spirituality. One of his key arguments is that we will often find God in the theatre. I would personally side more with Grant Horner’s contention that what we find in the theatre is humanity, but I would still affirm Johnston’s writing because human beings are made in God’s image, and God is reflected in the things we make, often in surprising ways. Once again, Reel Spirituality is in Baker’s Engaging Culture series, and the scholarly style will make this work more inaccessible to the average reader, but it is worth the time for those who want to learn more about a Christian approach to film and want to go deeper than Horner’s book (Meaning at the Movies).

Marsh and Roberts examine pop music and the modern person’s listening habits in an attempt to discover how our experience with pop music shapes us. The subject matter is fascinating, and Marsh and Roberts incorporate theology, psychology, and a wonderful knowledge of pop music into their text. I will say, however, that I found this book to be a bit disappointing, mostly because the writing style was so technical and every point so carefully nuanced that I felt an absence of firm conviction (this book is also in Baker’s Engaging Culture series). The scholarly approach gives the book lasting value, and many writers will want to build on what the authors have put together here, but when an author is working so hard to avoid making assertions beyond what their research will allow, the book often becomes tedious. For me personally, the scholarly strength of the book made it fall flat, aside from a few wonderful insights that I took away. I hope other readers will disagree.

As the title of this book suggests, Campbell focuses on the arts as a means of sharing one’s faith. Campbell is a jazz musician, so many of his examples are about music in general, and jazz in particular. Outreach and the Artist provides a fairly robust vision for what it means to incorporate the arts into outreach. At times, I felt as though Campbell was recommending the bait and switch: throw a jazz concert, and once you’ve got people there for the fun event, hit them with the gospel. But in the end Campbell’s approach was much more robust, and he does address how art itself, communicating as art can be an outreach opportunity. The book is more specifically focused than most readers will want, but for those wanting to do outreach, this will be a helpful read.

Imagination Redeemed is not primarily about art. As the title suggests, the book is about the imagination in general. Each chapter follows the same structure: Veith writes some on the importance of the imagination for life and art, then Ristuccia writes about some appeal to the imagination in the book of Ezekiel. In one sense, the book is broad because it addresses imagination for all of life, but the book is also oddly narrow in that most of the application focuses on the book of Ezekiel. It’s part encomium to imagination and part commentary on Ezekiel. The strength is that the sections on Ezekiel show how powerfully the Bible makes use of the imagination. The weakness is that those less interested in the background and text of Ezekiel will find the book difficult to finish. The book is full of insights on the imagination, however, and the sections on Ezekiel are also insightful.

This is not a book about art, it’s a book about reading well. But I’m including it here because Sire gives a significant amount of attention to reading poetry and fiction. The book as a whole is helpful and definitely worth reading, and those interested in fiction and poetry will find much help in reading, understanding, and enjoying these art forms. Sire is a great teacher, he uses many excellent examples, and he is always clear in explaining why it matters.

Reinke’s book is about reading—all types of reading, including literature. Overall, this book is very helpful. Reinke orients the reader to the challenges and possibilities of reading various genres and provides discussions about important topics such as whether or not a Christian can benefit from reading books written by non-Christians. My only concern with Lit! is that Reinke seems (to me) to view written words as inherently better (or more powerful, or more beneficial) than images, which he says are more ambiguous and more prone to corruption. I disagree with that sentiment, especially when it comes to thinking about art, and especially when considering the massively corrupting purposes to which language has been directed, but I suppose I shouldn’t fault a literary enthusiast for loving his own art form.

McManus writes as a pastor of a highly artist-saturated congregation. In other words, he knows what it means to be a shepherd to artists. The book includes helpful discussions on the nature of art, the importance of craftsmanship, and the importance of the imagination. While the book continually interacts with the world of art, the book is not about art, strictly speaking. McManus uses art as an analogy for life: you want your life to be a work of art. So while I would recommend this book, if you are looking for a book specifically on art or what it means to be an artist, I’d start elsewhere. If you enjoy art and want to be a better person, this would be a great book for you.

Fujimura has written eloquently and inspiringly on faith and art before. With Culture Care, he gives us many important concepts to ponder and pursue. Fujimura talks about the culture wars that are all too familiar for most of us. Unlike those who would glamorize our modern culture, Fujimura acknowledges that there is much in culture today that should sadden us, much that is toxic, much that harms the soil in which we are trying to grow. But unlike those who want to throw up their hands in disgust and sit in condemnation of culture until Jesus returns, Fujimura insists that we have a responsibility to the culture all around us.

“Culture is not a territory to be won or lost but a resource we are called to steward with care. Culture is a garden to be cultivated.”

Culture Care means viewing all of life as a gift, viewing culture itself as a gift. Our own abilities, and the abilities and cultural goods of the people around us, whether Christian or not, are gifts from God. Rather than disdaining culture or the works of those outside the church, we need to be life-giving participants in culture. Fujimura explains:

“Artistic expressions are signposts declaring what it is to be fully human.”

When we free ourselves of our utilitarian mindset that insists on valuing only that which is useful, when we begin living “generatively,” creatively bringing something new and life-giving into existence, then we create new possibilities in the lives of the people around us.

For Fujimura, this is a matter of stewardship. If we all fall prey to the utilitarian mindset that fails to value beauty, creativity, and generativity, then the cultural soil will be further poisoned by the time our children inherit the cultural world we have failed to steward. But if we labor to tend the soil of culture, our children may live in a cultural world that is bursting with life, in which gospel seeds can grow, in which beauty takes root and shapes the imagination and daily life of society.

Too often, the cultural efforts of Christians are derivative (simply imitating the “secular” culture with a Jesus-twist) or speak almost exclusively to other Christians. But Fujimura’s concept of Culture Care calls us beyond this introspective existence.

“Western Christianity in the twentieth century fell into an ‘adjective’ existence with Christian music, Christian art, Christian plumbers. Even today, artists are often valued in the church only if they create art for the church, or at least, ‘Christian art.’ Culture Care will mean moving away from such labels…I am not a Christian artist. I am a Christian, yes, and an artist. I dare not treat the powerful presence of Christ in my life as an adjective. I want Christ to be my whole being.”

In this mentality, Fujimura sees artists functioning as “border-stalkers” (think of Strider/Aragorn in Lord of the Rings) who are able to cross boundaries with ease and mediate between diverse groups. Fujimura’s vision here of what an artist’s role might become in relation to the church and the surrounding culture is especially insightful, and he gives very practical and helpful advice for those seeking to fulfill that role.

Fujimura leaves us with a number of “what ifs” to spur or thinking about what might be possible if we took Culture Care seriously. Here are a few of my favorites.

What if each of us endeavored to bring beauty into someone’s life today in some small way?

What if artists became known for their generosity rather than only their self-expression?

What if we committed to speaking fresh creativity and vision into culture rather than denouncing and boycotting other cultural products?

What if we saw art as gift, not just as commodity?

What if we empower the “border stalkers” in our communities, support and send them out?

What if we created songs [and other forms of art] to draw people into movements for justice and flourishing?

All in all, I believe that Culture Care is an important book, one of the few that is taking the discussion of Christian involvement in the arts and culture to a new level. If you are an artist at any level, this is an important book to read. If you are convinced of the importance of art and culture in the life of the church and/or world, this is an important book to read. And if you’re just becoming interested in the concept of art and culture as it relates to your faith, this would be a great place to start.

As I write this, I am only aware of one place to purchase the Culture Care book, and that’s through the International Arts Movement’s website (click here).

This is the first fiction work to be included as our Book of the Month. I’m sure it won’t be the last. After years of people telling me that I need to read Marilynne Robinson’s Gilead, I finally did (the book is a Pulitzer Prize winner, by the way). Quite simply: This is far and away one of the best books I’ve ever read. It’s in my top three, for sure. Having just finished it this weekend, I’m still feeling emotional and inspired.

Like all good fiction, Gilead pulls you away from the strains of every day life so that you can see life in a new light and then be thrust back into life with a new sense of appreciation and wonder. Here’s how Robinson does it.

Gilead is written as a memoir from an old preacher writing to his young son after having been diagnosed with an illness that will soon end his life. John Ames, the preacher, writes to explain himself to the son who will be too young at the time of his death to understand who his father was. He writes about his preacher father, his preacher grandfather, the small and quirky town in which they live, the old and dilapidated church and its history, etc.

The storyline itself is fairly simply and endearing. It’s Robinson’s fascinating ability to draw her readers casually into the deep mysteries of life and faith that give this book its power. Here are just a couple of examples from near the end of the book. The Reverend Ames tells his son:

“I love the prairie! So often I have seen the dawn come and the light flood over the land and everything turn radiant at once, that word ‘good’ so profoundly affirmed in my soul that I am amazed I should be allowed to witness such a thing.”

“It has seemed to me sometimes as though the Lord breathes on this poor gray ember of Creation and it turns to radiance—for a moment or a year or the span of a life. And then it sinks back into itself again, and to look at it no one would know it had anything to do with fire, or light. That is what I said in the Pentecost sermon. I have reflected on that sermon, and there is some truth in it. But the Lord is more constant and far more extravagant than it seems to imply. Wherever you turn your eyes the world can shine like transfiguration. You don’t have to bring a thing to it except a little willingness to see. Only, who could have the courage to see it?”

These are just a couple of the gems Robinson offers in this masterful book. The plot and character development are wonderful, and the pacing of the book itself is a breath of fresh air. Robinson has a calm writing style, and John Ames’ simple outlook on life as he reflects on a long life in a quiet but often troubled town is oddly life-giving.

Marilynne Robinson

I would have a hard time explaining exactly why I love this book as much as I do, but I’m certain that I have closed the back cover with a greater appreciation for life, a greater respect for the mysteries of God, an increased love for the Creator, and who knows what else. I am also certain that I will be re-reading this book multiple times.

If you love reading fiction, this is a must read. If you have not yet learned to love fiction, this would be an excellent place to start. And if you need to be convinced of why fiction matters, click here for some wise words from C. S. Lewis.

If you want to gain some powerful insight in a very short amount of time, I’m going to recommend you read The Freedom of Self-Forgetfulness by Tim Keller. It’s very short—as in, you’ll likely be able to read the whole thing in an hour or two. And it’s inexpensive—as in, $1.62 on Kindle at the moment I’m writing this.

Like everything I’ve read from Keller, this book is powerful. It’s well thought out, it is right on the money in terms of its description of the human condition, and its advice for growth is saturated in the gospel. Here’s my pitch: If you have two dollars and two hours, you can’t afford to skip this little book.

Keller’s argument runs like this…

We’ve all heard it said that our human problems are caused by low self-esteem. What we need is to believe in ourselves, to be more self-confident, to grow in our self-esteem. But Tim Keller argues that there is no evidence to say that low self-esteem causes problems, nor is there evidence that high self-esteem would solve anything.

We don’t need to think more highly of ourselves, but neither do we need to become more self-deprecating. What we need, Keller says, it to think about ourselves less. Worrying about yourself, protecting your own interests, making a name for yourself—there is incredible freedom in letting go of these pursuits and instead choosing to love and serve others.

“With me it is a very small thing that I should be judged by you or by any human court. In fact, I do not even judge myself. For I am not aware of anything against myself, but I am not thereby acquitted. It is the Lord who judges me.”

Essentially, Paul is saying, “I’m not worried about your verdict on my life. Nor am I worried about my own verdict on my life. The only verdict that matters is God’s.” When we can live in confidence that only God’s view of our lives matters, then we are free to stop trying to prove ourselves.

We are constantly trying to prove ourselves to other people. They are trying to hold us to some standard (or at least, we often think they are trying to hold us to some standard), so we do our best to show them that we’re good enough. But we’re not good enough, so we disappoint them. We also try to live up to our own standards, but we also fail miserably at that, so we disappoint ourselves.

Paul’s words are revolutionary at this point: I don’t care what you think about me. But I also don’t care what I think about me. The only thing I care about is what God thinks about me. And because God has given his own Son to reconcile me to God and make me holy before him, God is pleased with me. That’s all that matters.

Keller explains that Christianity is the only religion in which the verdict precedes the performance. In every religion, if you perform well enough throughout your life, you receive the verdict that God (or the gods, or some impersonal force) is pleased with you, that you’re good enough. But in Christianity, the verdict comes first. God declares himself to be pleased with us before we perform anything but wicked deeds. He loves us while we are still sinners. And then that verdict enables the performance.

All of this frees us from having to prove ourselves. It frees us from having to make a name for ourselves. It frees us from having to look out for ourselves. We belong to God and he is pleased with us and he has given us a mission to accomplish. We can and must spend our lives in pursuit of something greater than ourselves.

The purpose of this blog is to promote dialogue and to encourage our readers to think through various ways theology may be applied in life. Occasionally, we address issues that are considered to be controversial. The views that our contributors share in their posts do not always reflect the views of Eternity Bible College or our supporting churches. Refer to our complete Statement of Faith for more information.